


Blood Rained Flowers

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Marriage, Good Death Eaters, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 17:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Ron Weasley did not mean anything bad by his actions but he was too worried about his family. Unfortunately, that poor decision had led him to lose his best friend and his potential girlfriend. Through his jealous actions after some salacious photographs were sent his way, he betrayed his two closest friends and lived with Percy.Whilst he was in a nice home Hermione and Harry were thrust in separate cells. Hermione was in the second story cells of Malfoy Manor, the ones where the Dark Lord decides to marry them off to Death Eaters or to kill them straight away. Narcissa helps Hermione ask the questions on a sheet of paper that leads her to marry not just one, but three men, who wish for a chance of redemption, to stop the hills being painted with blood and to allow forsaken flowers to grow.How do these men prove they have redeemed themselves? Can Ginny forgive her for marrying her uncles' murderer? More importantly, how does Hermione impress the Dark Lord?Much has been sacrificed, and magical citizens both sides of the fence are fed up of seeing blood-stained flowers!





	Blood Rained Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you TFL for beta-ing this piece of work for me. Also, thank you for setting this competition up.
> 
> This is based on Nightwish's song Bye-Bye Beautiful.

BLOOD RAINED FLOWERS 

**HOGWARTS GROUNDS**

**June 1998**

It was a warm and cheerful day. Hermione was now a delicate thorn, a desirable piece of art that only rich older men could afford.

However, it was not a rich older man making these flattering observations, but a poor young witch with fiery red hair and playful brown eyes, thin aquiline nose dusted and covered in freckles. Ginny was distracted, her thoughts crowding with affection for her best friend and tinged with irritation and regret regarding her loutish brother, Ronald Weasley. A sharp pinch in her shoulder startled her, and she whirled about, coming face to face with Lucius Malfoy.

“Did you have to send Ron those pictures?!” she snapped, brushing his cane off her shoulder in obvious disgust.

“It was not I that made him act the way he did. Your insecure brother is no match for her anyway.”

“ _I_ know that, and _you_ know that however, _he_ does not know that! They would have figured it out without your unsolicited help.”

“I prefer to think of it as broadening her horizons,” Lucius smirked as he floridly produced a lavender silk handkerchief and sniffed it.

The pair fell into silence as she observed the heavenly pregnant form of young Mrs… Ginny was not sure what to call her best friend, Hermione. Still, she was beautiful as she crested the small swell of the hill surrounding the decimated Quidditch field.

The sun projected a hazy halo surrounding her frame as Hermione walked confidently in their direction, “Ginny!” she hugged her friend. “Mr Malfoy, are you prepared to help us build today? Or are you afraid of dirt spoiling your lily-white hands?”

“I’m here to make sure some pieces of art are properly restored by Mr Filch.” The aristocrat then lifted Hermione’s hand to his lips, turned it around and pressed a warm kiss into her palm.

A deep sweet blush covered her already rutilant cheeks.

“The sun may be up in the sky but surely a drop from its ray alighted when you were conceived; you’re bright, beautiful and shine as gracefully as the sun does.”

“You flatter me. I’m just a…”

“You’re not just _anything_ , my sweet little thorn, you’re a young witch and…”

Then her husband showed up, wrapping an arm around her shoulders: “Go to your own wife and stop pinching other people’s.”

Like his arm was a magnet to her steel-made hand, her left arm reached up so that she could hold her husband’s warm, large, protective hand in hers. “There is something we need to discuss, love,” he said.

Hermione offered a simpering smile, as Ginny looked on, hands unconsciously clenched into fists as the strikingly gorgeous man continued unashamedly hugging her best friend, beaming down at her with just as much love and warmth in his face as was reflected in her eyes. She wished Harry was just as open about his love for her in public as they were.

Soon after that, Harry walked up, worry etched in his eyes, “Ginny, what have I told you? Tell me where you are, I was worried!” he hugged her protectively, though from whom he was protecting her was unclear.

Ginny spotted Hermione’s far away gaze as Ronald worked hard in the distance.

“Hermione,” she said immediately thinking of a distraction to make Hermione feel less guilty, “you have _got_ to tell me how you landed such hunks,” she squealed, perhaps overdoing it a little. “Harry is reluctant to spill.”

“Because _Harry_ does not want to recall how _Hermione_ (who is my sister legally now by the way) got together with not just _one_ – but _three_ men. Also, some of the details are beyond my abilities as I wasn’t there for most of it.”

“In other words, the Hero of the Wizarding world is a Prude!” Ginny giggled behind her hand. “I intend to make him more relaxed about bedroom matters. Weasley’s and Prewitt’s never have been shy, and I’m both those noble names. Potters have been single child families for far too long. So,” her voice tuned itself to a flirtatious melody towards the blond in their midst: “I hear the witches of long-past prepare sonnets over your legendary skills. Plus, it is a fatherly duty and one I don’t wish _my_ father to offer.”

Lucius’ dirty chuckle caught both witches attention, for they glanced at him with mixed wonder and intrigue. The way Hermione gazed at him hinted that she was considering a fourth. Her husband and Harry coughed to get their respective mates to look at them.

“I believe you have a story to tell.”

“Oh how do I begin…” she mused.

**The Capture**

**September 19th 1997**

They had almost made it out of the Ministry with the real Horcrux, but it was not to be – a Death Eater had grabbed onto her clothing and managed to stay locked on as they ended up outside 12 Grimmauld Place. The witch tried to squirm out of his grasp, her torn robe was the first casualty. The second they all landed hard on the concrete roads winding them all, Dolohov and Rowle had shown up with a surprising addition to their trio, Ronald was standing in front of them.

“Sorry, Harry, but I’ve to think of my family. Percy was right, I just didn’t see it – and as for you, Hermione. Cavorting around with Viktor last Christmas. I actually felt sorry for you.”

“I don’t need your pity!” Hermione spat, “Viktor was an _excellent_ lover. You didn’t raise an eyebrow when it was Cormac McClaggan. I’ve just realised _Weasley_ , that you’re not good enough for me. You’re a tree that is forsaking my flower and I shan’t be forsaken any longer!” she shouted over again as a Death Eater wrapped his arms around her waist. He picked her up and she kicked in the air, “Good luck being married to Pansy Parkinson.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Yaxley squeezed Ron’s shoulder, “you did well. Now, go home, to your brother Percy, as you promised.”

Harry refused to look back at Ron as he was now trussed up like a Christmas goose.

  **Malfoy Manor**

**2nd Story Cells**

**September 19th 1997**

The second floor was given to the prisoners the Dark Lord wished to be left unmolested. The prisoners had a small little room to themselves including basic facilities. She had found some books piled by her bed and some parchment. The tops of the leaves of parchments were written:

>   _1) The Dark Lord offers you a place at his side, you’re a muggleborn – what do you say and why?_

 Did they think this was going to be… then another question appeared on the second sheet of paper, it read thus:

> _2) The Dark Lord offers you a husband or wife to help you get along in the world, whom would you choose out of these men in his ranks:_

  1. >                     _Rabastan Lestrange_

  2. >                  _Antonin Dolohov_              

  3. > _Barty Crouch_

  4. > _Severus Snape_

  5. >                   _Corban Yaxley_

  6. >                _Thorfinn Rowle_              

  7. > _Finbar Avery_           

  8. > _Walden Macnair_

  9. >               _Amycus Carrow_

  10. >                  _Augustus Rookwood_




The last one befuddled and bemused Hermione:

> _3) What is the best solution to the lack of wizards and witches born?_  

At first, she thought it was a joke – only a moron would think an exam would be enough to placate her, the ludicrous questions were enough to tempt her to escape but then a quill had popped in the air in a cloud of purple and silver sprinkles for her to reply. Hermione hated the idea of having to answer such inane queries, yet there was nothing else to do. 

_Fine, we’ll play it your way_ , she thought as she gritted her teeth, squared her shoulders and sat at the tattered looking desk. The velvet-covered stool was frayed around the edges, she would transfigure it, but she’d had her wand taken away from her the moment she was thrust violently into this rectangular prison.

An elegant blonde witch entered; Hermione immediately recognised her as Draco’s mother. Rather oddly the Lady of the house was carrying a tray by hand instead of having it floating by her side. Her next action was bizarre, to say the least, in the faded mirror Hermione watched as the woman sunk sadly on the uncomfortable mattress.

“This will never do,” she muttered and fixed the bed and made the room smell of roses, jasmine, and neroli. Narcissa then transfigured the stool and beauty station to look and feel brand new. “Much better.”

“Do you wish to talk?”

“I do desire conversation, yes. To help you and explain the questions and why it’s imperative you reply to them.”

Narcissa needed Hermione’s full attention so she turned around and sat primly with her ankles crossed and her hands in her lap patiently waiting for Narcissa to talk.

“Miss Granger, is it not?”

“It is,” she confirmed stiffly.

“Excellent,” Narcissa smiled, though it had not reached her sparkling eyes, she picked up the parchments and waved them about as if she’d rather burn them after shedding them to pieces, “this _parody_ of parchments are a test. You’re going to be used as a broodmare or killed. Although,” she glared at the parchments, her mouth twisted in disgust, “ _I_ had more to answer.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This floor is where we put half-bloods and Muggle-borns in to discern if they are good enough to breed,” her companion explained, passing a hand over her brow as if that could sort out her thoughts. “If you have any sense of self-preservation please, I beg you, use it.”

“I thought you were on _his_ side.”

“Not since I became a mother, now I am on my son’s side.”

Narcissa’s answer impressed Hermione, “How can I help Harry if I’m seen to be a traitor?”

“I’ll show him this memory; I’ll make him understand _you_ had no choice.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Mrs Malfoy interrupted as she rose regally from the bed and indicated a tray that held tea, scones, finger sandwiches and mini lemon meringue tarts. “Please eat, you’re going to need your energy for your meeting with the Dark Lord.”

“The,” Hermione gulped and said meekly. “Dark Lord?”

“Answer those questions faithfully and he will want to meet you. Please,” Narcissa rushed and fell to her knees covering Hermione’s hand with hers. Beseeching her, “Miss Granger, this could help so many other people than Harry Potter, your answers could save the world.”

“I suppose only a Slytherin would say lying is a great way to save the world!” Hermione said rather plainly, arching an eyebrow. This was proof that the witch was earnest in her appeal, who would imagine a Malfoy bending her knees in front of _the_ Muggle-born seeking help? “I’m not sure I’m _that_ good an actress and I _really_ don’t like lying.” 

“I prefer to think of it as bending the truth,” 

“I don’t know who the unmarried ones are.” 

“You can marry one already married in our world. We are more accepting of harem marriages than muggles are. We share our magic with our mate. The more you’re married to the more powerful you become.” 

Hermione said slowly, “Surely there would be some who would not accept me?” 

“If the Dark Lord accepts you then there would be no room for argument.” 

“Why is Harry not on this floor?”

“Would you wish to be on the same side as the one who will kill you?”

“Keep friends close, enemies closer. To bring up a glib cliché.”

Mrs Malfoy actually laughed, warmth suffused it, George would like that laugh, “I suppose that makes a lot of sense. Still,” she shook her head and sighed as she gazed straight into Hermione’s eyes, “I know you’re not going to believe me. Many of us have become simply exhausted, even feeling the need to _die_ is considered so that we can feel _alive_ , again.”

Unconsciously Hermione stroked the scars that Dolohov had ‘gifted’ her at the end of that year. The action had not gone unnoticed by Mrs Malfoy. The younger witch glared back at her as she allowed her hand to fall limply by her side.

“If I do this, you swear a wands oath that Harry James Potter is given food, a decent bed, and the ability to shower?" 

Arching an eyebrow Mrs Malfoy drew out her elegant wand and swirled the tip seven times clockwise, a bright blue light glowed at the tip, bathing the two witches in its cool glow. Then she turned the wand tip seven times anti-clockwise as she spoke these words of her oath three times: “I, _Narcissa Elara Malfoy_ , do swear to _Hermione Jean Granger_ to care for her friend, _Harry James Potter_ to the best of my ability. I also swear that I, _Narcissa Elara Malfoy_ , will allow no harm to fall upon _Hermione Jean Granger_ and assist her in any way possible.”

The wand tip glowed a bright white and the room seemed to shake as the oath took hold. Flabbergasted by the display, Hermione barely noticed the little silver runes that fastened onto her forearms. They shimmered as she moved, the mesmeric display had her awestruck by the sheer power that emanated from Mrs Malfoy’s oath. 

As the silver runes sunk into her skin, Narcissa drooped down in an elegant swoon onto the bed. Hermione rushed to her side to offer her help. Seconds later she noticed that Narcissa also had silver runes sink into her pale skin signifying the binding had been completed.

With her new friend’s humanity showing, during their tête-à-tête, Hermione had poured her visitor a cup of soothing earl grey tea with a lemon slice and the witch took it, “Thank you, Miss Granger, we have to get to work. Eat up then you have to write your answers.”

“Hermione, please, and how did you know my middle name?”

“My husband worked in the ministry; he’d had access to all Muggle-born files. He told me.”

“Yours is really pretty, it suits you.”

“Thank you, Hermione. You must always call me Narcissa,” they shook hands firmly already feeling the oath at work. “Now we have that sorted shall we get on with the task at hand?”

With Narcissa by her side and decently replete from the afternoon tea, the witches sat next to each other pouring over each question individually.

> **1)**     **The Dark Lord offers you a place at his side, you’re a Muggle-born – what do you say and why?**
> 
> _But, sir,_ (this Narcissa advised to call him as he would not be her Lord until she was properly marked,) _this honour should first be given to those of purest blood. What am I compared to the glory that is Salazar’s unfinished work? Also, sir, of what benefit is it to you to have me by your side? I’m but a humble servant in your presence._

“That does not sound like me at all,” Hermione muttered, her nose crinkling with distaste at the grovelling words.

“That is the whole point, you appeal to his ego, his stance and his presence. Curtsy too, I trust you know how to curtsy?” 

Hermione blushed, “Only a basic one but not ones like you can do, I’m sure.”

“A humble demeanour is all you need. I’m going to have to teach you that,” Narcissa sighed as she placed a curl of hair behind Hermione’s ear, “You have pretty ears, do you know that? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were Andromeda’s daughter. You so remind me of her.”

A lump formed in Hermione’s throat as Narcissa praised her for being pretty enough to belong to her side of the family.  

“Thank you,” she whispered. “So, er, what would he say to that snivelling wreck that I’m about to become?”

“Something along the lines of: Good, you are intelligent enough to understand where you stand. You’re asking the right…” just as she spoke another question appeared changing the format from 3 to 4. 

> **2)**     **That is acceptable, but what specialities do you have that could serve me well?**
> 
> _I can serve well; my abiding trait is loyalty. I also can brew potions, (I brewed Polyjuice when I was 13 in my second year of school and put a drug into muffins to take out three Slytherins so we could sneak into their common room to find out some information needed to protect Hogwarts), I also faced a werewolf at 14, helped a friend through the Tri-Wizard tournament, and set up a resistance group using PROTEAN charmed Galleons to set up secret meetings. I can also do Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and some spells considered on the grey side. I can also speed read and correct mistakes in letters and love reading so I’m also a great researcher._

The answer soon flourished on the parchment in a poisonous green ink:

>   **I must admit you do intrigue me,** it said **, I do wish to get to know you more. Please answer the last two questions before I can ascertain whether you’d be an asset or…Pet food. It is up to you how you go forward for now. Personally, I’m hoping you’re exactly what we are looking for. You must thank your sponsor Severus Snape when you see him.**

 The next two questions made her look to Narcissa for guidance. Also what had that traitor to do with it?

> **3)**     **The Dark Lord offers you a husband or wife to help you get along in the world, whom would you choose out of these men in his ranks and I’ll tell you why they may be good or bad for you?**  

“Should I tick or…?”

“I’d underline the ones you’re willing to although I’ll suggest Rabastan Lestrange, first of all, because he is kinder than he appears.”

“I thought Barty Crouch Jr had his soul sucked out of him?”

“It was too unsafe for Severus that Barty would be hurt, so it was acted well. Don’t forget Barty fooled Dumbledore into believing he was a close friend. The man is a great actor. He may be unstable, but I think sharing magic would balance him out beautifully.”

“Right so that is Rabastan _and_ Barty you suggest,” Hermione sighed. If only she had a less logical brain – inside she was screaming with anger at the thought of having to negotiate her husbands. _It should have been Ron_ , she sighed.

_Should have been_ , a voice sneered, _but someone interfered which is why you’re in this mess. You slept with Viktor first – Ron’s pride was wounded like it always is. His insecurities muddled with yours. Would’ve made a poor match anyway. You need someone who can take charge._

_I suppose._

_No supposing about it, now Narcissa is giving you an anxious look. It seems you must make another decision._

_Fine!_

The internal monologue was stopped to make Hermione glance back up at the lovely witch in front of her, she sighed and then wrote down the third name. With determination sparkling in her eyes she took the quill in hand and wrote the names down of her chosen husbands, after taking Narcissa’s advice.

 

  1. >                     _Rabastan Lestrange_

  2. >                  _Barty Crouch Jr_

  3. > _Antonin Dolohov_  




Another statement bled onto the page in front of her:

> **Interesting choices pet they will balance you out well from what I know of you. Rabastan is good at grey magic and will teach you and help you thrive, Barty Crouch Jr is a brilliant actor and can teach you how to be cunning. Antonin Dolohov is excellent at Charms and Arithmancy and has a logical mind to suit yours – they have all asked for you. So you have chosen well, Miss Granger.**
> 
> **Everything hinges on your answer to this last question.**
> 
> **4)**     **What is the best solution to the lack of wizards and witches born?**

She couldn’t afford to be blasé about this, the life of her friends hung in the balance. Narcissa had sat back and allowed her to answer in her own words; a dangerous assumption. A peaceful look settled on Narcissa’s face. Hermione decided to turn her back to write this answer down.

> _Perhaps it would be better to not kill off anyone younger than seventy. To allow half-bloods to flourish, and not to think of Muggle-borns as disgraceful, disgusting blots on the wizarding landscape. Muggles no longer hunt us down to kill and torture us. My parents were extremely supportive of my decision to become fully immersed in this world. They had not lost their daughter; several other stories of the same ilk exist from all houses. Scientific proof exists that half-bloods born of a witch and male muggle produce quite strong witches and wizards. Allow Muggle-borns in. If you breed into a too small gene pool the more weaknesses will show. Studies in the Muggle world show that dogs are stronger and longer-lived if they are born from two different pure breeds. Also, small does not mean weak._
> 
> _I understand why Salazar took the stance he did all those years ago, the toxic environment and lack of scientific understanding were to blame. Most of the spells we use now were invented then to protect us. It is my belief that we are more dangerous to Muggles now than we were then._
> 
> _I’m going to ask you a question now:_
> 
> _How many generations of Muggle-born marrying Muggle-born and producing witches and wizards every time can a family name be considered pure?_

Narcissa gasped at Hermione’s answer to the third question: “You foolish girl,” she hissed. “You were doing so well and now you ruin it by that…” 

Instead of rapprochement, however, the answer blossomed back on the page.

> **I like your style, you’re indeed brave, and whilst you might be willing to bow down to me to save your friends, you wouldn’t do so to save yourself. Such an interesting, _foolish_ characteristic. I shall entertain your curiosity.**
> 
> **It’ll take 6 generations of one family beginning with a Muggle-born couple to become pure, to become pure enough for Slytherin it would have to be at least 8.**
> 
> **You’ve given me much to think about, Miss Granger. You’ll be presented in the Malfoy’s Ballroom tonight where you’re to meet your husbands. Again, be sure to thank Severus before you leave tonight. He begged for your life to be spared.**  

_Husbands_ , the audacity of the word made her snort out loud in an unladylike manner, the look Narcissa sent her way was quite telling of how she had disapproved of the action. The smirk, however, showed that her new friend was agreeing with her over the preposterousness of the situation. 

“Sorry,” Hermione blushed. 

Narcissa shrugged, “For what, exactly?” Their shared comradery prompted Narcissa to generosity. “Come, you can borrow some of last season’s robes.” 

Last season meant brand new! “Yellow rain flowers seems to suit you, missy,” the house elf said, “Mistress so wished for a daughter. Now she has one to spoil.”

Never had Hermione felt so pampered in all her short life. When Narcissa was satisfied the Elf scurried away, tidying up as she left. Hermione gasped as she looked at herself in the mirror. 

“You’re going to meet three rich, pure-blooded men, your chin must be level with the floor, your head held high and, most importantly, don’t react. Wait until you’re alone to ask them questions. Even then defer, show them respect, and remember you can be yourself to your heart's content once you’re married.” 

“That is what my mum and Mrs Weasley said about marriage too.” 

“Remember, _they_ asked for _your_ hand. Find common ground and draw them to you quickly.” 

“Yes, Narcissa.” 

**Malfoy Manor**

**Ballroom**

Both witches were just outside the imposing ballroom doors. Nervously, Hermione twitched and squirmed in the tight, Bardot style dress with a sweetheart neckline. A ruched bow adorned one side, securely fastened by tumbling clouds of silk fabric. Rainflowers accented the neck and waist, offering her a perfect silhouette. Her hair was styled into a waterfall of curls cascading down her back, pinned in at the sides with solid silver hair clips, Sleekeazy gel and hair spray. Delicate pink and purple flowers were woven into a crown and placed upon her head. Frosted blue eyeshadow, deep red lipstick with matching nails, and mascara extended her lashes, a light peach blush was applied over a light foundation to accentuate her cheeks. Gold sandals with clear glass sides adorned her feet.

As the witches entered the room every male held their breath. Draco’s jaw dropped at seeing his rival in one of his mother’s dresses looking every inch a pureblooded witch. His father beside him turned to the man standing next to him, “I had hoped she’d have picked me, but I was not on the list, young boys don’t deserve that witch. She needs our generations expertise!” 

Withholding the desire to projectile vomit the remains of her afternoon tea over everyone, Hermione carried on placing one small step after another, keeping in step with Narcissa as they had practised upstairs.

The moment she reached the dais, keeping her eyes to the floor as she was told, Professor Snape stepped out of the crowd and began walking the other side. She was hemmed in and could not run away even if she wanted to. The tips of her shoes met the edge of a dais where a pair of pale feet stood. This was it – she would soon be face-to-face with the Dark Lord.

“I understand you wish to sponsor this witch to join us?” a cold hollow voice hissed.

“My Lord,” she watched as Professor Snape had knelt down on the floor and kissed the hem. “I believe her association with Potter will make her a great asset.”

“She is to remain unblemished aside from my mark!” 

Everyone gasped aloud at that announcement. Surely there must be some kind of mistake! Hermione Granger could not become one of them? That was unthinkable!

“Are you sure she won’t turn against you, my Lord?” Bella bowed mannishly as if she’d never curtseyed in her life.

Hermione decided to upstage the bitch. She kept her head demurely bowed as she regained her composure. With slow, languid grace, she tucked one foot behind the other and curtseyed _exactly_ how Narcissa did when she reached Him. _Don’t wobble! Remain calm and stationary_. 

“My Lord,” she said artlessly, “I’ve been sorely abused by my so-called friends, and now I wish for a little revenge. Would you begrudge me that?”

“Let us withdraw to the study, Miss Granger,” he whispered in her ear. They were so close that his forehead lightly brushed hers. Once he stood up straight he hit himself with a sonorous charm to speak to the entire crowd, “Miss Granger and I are repairing to Lucius’ Study – step forward the men she has chosen to be her life mates and teachers. Join us shortly.”

He allowed for a few minutes of silence to settle amongst the crowd, who’d have thought the Dark Lord was a drama queen… King… Lord? She had coughed slightly her nerves were too much to cover her laughter. Speculation ran riot throughout the crowd, the longer he remained silent, the louder the buzz. Once it reached to a level that threatened to give her a headache Hermione saw him raise his left hand, immediately the crowd silenced to hear what this new and sudden angel in their midst called worthy to be her guides.

“Would Antonin Dolohov,” a tall Russian man stepped forward with a long dark beard and piercing stark semi lifeless eyes. Her stomach dropped at his virility. “Rabastan Lestrange…”

“WHAT?” Bella shrieked. “I’m not going to have _that_ be my…”

“Bellatrix! Shush!” the Dark Lord snapped irritably, “and Barty Crouch Jr.”

Suddenly Hermione felt woozy, she felt something oozing down the back of her neck and she reached around. Slowly, she brought it around to her eyes. The scream brought her attention as she’d interrupted the Dark Lord delivering a speech.

“Miss Granger!” Professor Snape hissed about to tell her to stop being so drastically Gryffindor. “MISS GRANGER!”

Voldemort was worried now, his second in command hardly ever lost his composure. The Headmaster had swept her hair up and his hands came away blood-soaked. The crimson colour mixed and mingled with her white flesh. The beautiful acromantula silk flowers sewed around the neckline were now stained with her own blood the red clashing against the yellow – a garish combination that held its own mesmeric quality.

“Bellatrix!”

“She’s filth!”

“She has done everything asked of her so far. You have been disobedient for the last time…”

Through blurry eyes, Hermione watched as Narcissa sobbed over her sister’s dead body. Lucius had stepped forth to comfort his wife. Rabastan had swaddled Hermione into his cloak. Antonin, the physically stronger of the three carried her to Lucius study.

**Malfoy Manor**

**Lucius Study**

Hours later Hermione had woken up – whilst she was sleeping she’d been dressed in a red silk negligée with adjustable straps and sweetheart neckline again, Narcissa didn’t seem to own anything else other than various styles of sweetheart necklines. Moaning groggily she slowly turned her aching head. She was placed on a leather couch in front of the fire and noticed Severus Snape was pacing frantically between her and the fire, the orange glow highlighted how extremely pallid and exhausted he was.

“If you hadn’t nearly died right now I’d be angry with you. Was my name not on your list?”

“Sorry?”

“Was. My. Name. Not. Offered?”

“Er, yes but you have been my tea…”

“I could have protected you; I could’ve loved you. Those thugs cannot begin to appreciate you.”

“I’m far too wobbly, wibbly-wobbly – jelly on a plate,” she giggled due to the relaxant he had administered. “’Member that? Jelly on a plate. Wobbling, hey my breasts are wobbly – scared I’d have…,” she hiccupped. “Have no breasts but look they’re wobbly-a-wibbly and like jelly!” 

The silence was disturbed by boisterous teasing as the door opened. Laughter echoed through the hall and Study; Hermione shrieked as three men stepped into the room. Hurriedly she tried to cover herself up.

“No need to hide those beauties,” Barty Crouch Jr had said, “we’re going to be a _lot_ better acquainted with those perky breasts, so-much-so we’ll name them.” 

Hermione blushed. “I don’t think we’re meant to be _that_ acquainted straight away.” 

“Aw, you’ve only sobered her up. I was enjoying her playing with her nipples in front of the puritan over there.”

**Châteaux Lestrange**

**27th September – 31st October**

Hermione had been invited to floo over to Châteaux Lestrange. The other two men had also trooped in after, their dishevelled appearances would’ve made Hermione laugh if she weren’t still in pain due to whatever Bellatrix had sent her way.

“What happens now?” she asked the trio.

All three men sent worried glances and Rabastan, the one she was most physically attracted to, had made sure the room held the strongest silencing wards available.

Once he nodded to Barty Crouch Jr the youngest of the trio turned to her with pleading wide brown eyes, “I was wrong,” he said in a simple tone of voice, conveying everything and nothing.

“About?”

“Muggle-borns,” he shrugged his shoulders, “about you.”

The living persona of a black diamond, Antonin Dolohov, interrupted,  “So many things,” he tutted.  “I’m aggrieved for the hurt I caused you, little dove, you were right to silence me.”

Immediately Hermione’s hand fluttered up between her breast and unconsciously traced the scar from shoulder to hip in slow, up and down movement wondering if she should forgive him. She’d lost so much in those few months she was recovering. The girl was still standing, it was Rabastan who tapped her on the shoulder with a drink in his hands for her own and gestured towards the sofa in the centre of the room. Gratitude shone through her eyes as she sipped the vodka, soda and lime beverage, Rabastan had seated himself one side of her and Barty the other.

“Are you two just as contrite over the Longbottoms torture and for helping a megalomaniac to control the government?”

“We were all young and idealistic when we joined.” Barty leaned in and nuzzled her neck with his nose, “Such foolish boys we were. Then again,” he muttered, she watched as his eyes lowered to view the sinful lines of her breasts. “We didn’t know witches like you existed when we were at school,” he pressed his lips against the soft flesh under her ear. “The tenderest of flesh!” he murmured, a little Scottish creeping out, “Such a fair complexion I ever did see,” with a small swipe of his tongue he made her shiver with enjoyment.

Rabastan lifted her left arm where the Mark now stood and licked carefully, around the outline, “ _Mon petit minou_ ,” he sighed as he pressed an insistent, open-mouthed kiss on her palm. “Mon amour,” he purred. “How do I lust after thee.”

Gulping down her insecurity, Hermione knew she had to stop this right now or she’d be in trouble with the Order. “Gentlemen, please, I’m sore and tired. I need bed rest and food. Allow time to pass by before we do this. Surely you wish to know me as a witch rather than a sex object.” 

Barty winked and whispered in her ear: “Wouldn’t mind both to be honest.” 

“My comrade is right, _Mishka_ ,” Dolohov knelt on the ground, his dark brown eyes gazed lovingly up at her. How long had they been planning this? She thought as she tried hard not to blush under the warmth of the stern gaze, “We are interested in both. Is it not both that helps a marriage along?” 

“Er,” she wriggled, “not too sure.” 

“Of course,” Barty whispered as his lips caressed her shoulder, Dolohov had leaned further in, kissing the front of her throat with Rabastan sweeping her hair aside kissing the other side. “Be free, we have all our lives to appreciate your intelligence, let’s give in to physical lusts whilst we’re still young enough to enjoy it!”

She shied away but, Barty and Rabastan had their fingers caught in her hair, gently pulling her head back. “I’m not ready.” 

It was then she felt a hand push up onto her centre, “You seem ready to me,” Dolohov murmured as he sat back on his heels, his hands deftly unhooking her outer corset. “Beautiful,” he murmured as Rabastan and Barty took away the attached puffy sleeves from her dress laving her naked flesh with wet passionate licks and kisses. “Definitely, ready,” he murmured as he bunched up her breasts, now almost free of her underwear. “Let’s see how pretty your little rosebuds are, shall we?”

With that, they all ripped the vest from her body, the rush of cold air barely had time to hit her flesh as Barty leaned down and wrapped his tongue around one teat whilst Rabastan mirrored him the other side. Dolohov stood up, towering over her, the rustle of her skirts was all she heard as he managed to untie the laces at the front. The wizards didn’t blush! One of Barty and Rabastan’s hands were trapped in tendrils of hair, the other had landed on her semi-naked thighs. Silk black stockings hugged her calves, the suspenders caged in her upper thighs. 

“Dirty little witch, aren’t you?” Rabastan purred. “Now that you’re almost naked and we’re still clothed let’s equalise, shall we?” 

With a click of his fingers he was as naked as a new-born and Hermione gulped as she glanced down at his half erect member, “I want your little hand to stroke my _other_ wand,” he said as he sucked each of her fingers on her right hand, “I want you to bring me to climax using one hand alone!”

Determined not to be outdone, Barty played the same trick, with a click of his own fingers he too was half-mast, “How about we compete to see who can come first?” 

By now she was far too frightened by what Dolohov would demand of her. Surprisingly, his mind clarified and quickly noted the fear in her eyes. Immediately he’d magicked all their clothes back on then pulled Rabastan and Barty off her. 

“I apologise Pchelka,” he said, “we don’t mean to overwhelm you. You’re right, you are _physically_ ready, but you’re not _mentally_ prepared.”

“Antonin!” Barty whinged, again the Scottish drawl became prominent.

Rabastan also now saw the wild look in her eyes, “Antonin is right, Barty, she needs time to see for herself how truly sorry we are. How repentant we are, how we don’t wish to paint the mystic hills with our own blood, we must prove we have too much to lose, _especially_ now than we did back then.”

“Spoilsports,” Barty pouted.

“May I be shown to my own room, please?” she whispered, lowering her head in humility.

Dolohov stroked her chin between forefinger and thumb, caressing the left side of her face tenderly with his other hand as his eyes blazed passionate fire, “You’re going to be the wife of three Pure Blooded Wizards – hold your head high, HIGHER than most.” Saliva had gathered in Hermione’s mouth, but she managed to gulp it down and gasped when he pressed his lips tenderly to her own, “Sleep well, kotenok.”

“I will,” she murmured.

“Goodnight,” his breath fell sweetly across her face, calming her.

Barty and Rabastan kissed her goodnight too, also on the lips.

Then Hermione was directed, by a house-elf she did not hear the name of, to where the Mistress bedchambers were.  Surprised at the number of derogatory words the Elf muttered about her past mistress.

Hermione was flabbergasted by the delicious sumptuousness of her room. Lilac and lavender walls added lightness to the dark redwood shelves of books. One doorway led to the en-suite, and another would lead to a private room for her to entertain ladies and the third door, she was told, led to a nursery. However, it was the four-poster bed in cherry wood with a soft feather mattress and sinfully dark purple velvets with the Lestrange crest sown in silver in the centre of the bed that was the most welcome sight. 

She just hoped Harry was faring better due to the vow she’d enacted with Narcissa. Exhausted, Hermione allowed the Elf to dress her in a few snaps of fingers. She collapsed into the centre of the bed, snuggling into the silver and lilac pillows to slumber.

The next morning the same Elf woke her up, urged her into the shower and made her sit for an hour whilst dressing her, gushing on and on about how beautiful the new Mistress was going to be and what lovely babies she’d have.

“Mistress,” the elf said, “you must join Rabbity, Nin, and Barty – they will look after you well and spoil you, no doubt!”

Hermione carefully tucked the nickname away in the corner of her brain. She walked downstairs, following the elf – the young one who would be taking over her care. Her own personal elf! As the quivering creature rounded to the right she was led down to heavy driftwood doors. Boat paraphernalia all over the place.

“My father,” Rabastan coughed behind her, “I didn’t know him well, but he was obsessed with sailing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and mother sailed away to a lonely island to get away from Bellatrix.”

“What was your father’s name?”

“Edmund,” Rabastan replied. “A massive drunk. My name should be Rastaban, but my father was far too drunk to pronounce that properly, so it became Rabastan. One day he called me Rabbit – unfortunately, that one stuck.” 

“I like the name Edmund,” Hermione said softly. “Always have.”

It was that moment that Rodolphus had shown up, he stood on the fourth to last step and the scene seemed to freeze at that moment. Without time to protest, Rabastan flung Hermione behind his back in an effort to protect his future bride from his fanatical brother. Yet, Rodolphus lips curled in a shark-like grin. His intense eyes roved up and down what he could see of her body.

“Perhaps a fourth can be added at some time in the future,” he winked suggestively at her. “I want to thank you for finally ridding me of my wife…” he’d managed to walk down the last few steps and had reached his younger brother and the new Lestrange-to-be. “Welcome to the family. Now, let us eat.”

It was then that the other two she’d chosen apparated in front of the door, “Why the wizarding world needs staircases is beyond me.” Hermione muttered.

“We need physical exercise as much as anyone,” Rabastan explained, “these two are lazy!”

Both Barty and Antonin had the decency to look sheepish. “Breakfast,” Barty said rubbing his hands gleefully. “Are you still in pain, Mia?”

“Mia?” she furrowed her brow; her eyes conveyed the confusion she felt at the nickname. Only her father had called her Mia, everyone else seemed to think ‘Mione was sufficient enough. “Is that what you wish to call me?” 

“Better than that _other_ name the two nitwits saddled you with,” Barty replied, “I shuddered completely whenever I heard that awful _‘Mione_ used to apply to you, a budding bright flower. No,” he said sweeping a florid bow, “You’re to be known as Mia from now on.”

“Do you have a shortened name you wish to be known by, Mr Dolohov?”

“I think after last night you and I should call each other Mia and Nin, yes?”

“I’m to be known as Roddy,” Rodolphus sighed impatiently, “now, come on – breakfast.”

“Oscar Wilde once said only boring people are good at breakfast,” muttered Hermione to the amusement of her fiancés.

That was how life was at the Châteaux. Days passed by with the four getting to know each other. The season turned colder; Halloween was approaching. The Malfoy’s were hosting a masquerade.

No one witnessed two masked wizards slipping away from the ball.

 

**Malfoy Manor**

**2 ND Floor Dungeons**

**31 st October**

The Fourteenth cell had to be the one at the farthest end. Two wizards were standing outside. One had revealed the other from a disillusionment charm. Strong blue eyes twinkled at the sea green ones belonging to his younger brother. 

“This reminds me of when we were at school, brother – does it not you?”

“Look, this boy is my bride’s brother in all but blood, she told us she’s marrying three of us to protect him." 

“You really are one of them.”

“Is that a bad thing, brother?”

“Now,” Rodolphus winked.

They aimed their wands destabilising the locking charms, with a creeeeek the door slowly opened. They walked in and saw a young man lying on the back of his mattress holding some kind of map.

“Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Or worried about the squid?”

“Girlfriend, who the…”

“Lestrange Brothers – we’ve turned for Hermione, and you need to escape.” 

“If you really are here due to Hermione then what’s her favourite song growing up?”

“Duran Duran’s: Wild Boys! Union of the Snake! View To A Kill! and Violence of Summer.”

“I’m rather jealous of this Nick Wild!”

“Rhodes,” Harry said, “so why aren’t you killing me and letting that be your present.”

“Because, you ungrateful little brat,” Rabastan snarled. “I happen to be in a deep wizards bond with my Hermione and part of that is accepting those she loves, and she loves you!”

“She also…”

“Look at how the Potter has grown in my absence,” Barty sing-songed.

“HARRY!” A voice in the halls squealed. Before he knew it she dashed up to him at 60mpm and clung onto his neck sobbing on his shoulder, “Oh Harry there’s _so much_ to tell. Narcissa and I were going to rescue you tonight as I had her under oath to do so then the door was open, I walk in and see Rabbity, Roddy and Barty already here. Hey,” she turned around so fast her hair hit Harry’s face, “Why are you here?”

“What on Earth is happening?” Draco’s voice came from the doorway holding a fairly bloodied Luna whilst Dean was supporting Ollivander. “Mum?”

“A secret rescue mission.”

“We remain all together,” Draco said, “that way then we can keep an eye _on_ each other, _for_ each other."

“Where?”

“What about Ginny?” Harry asked. “I want her out of Hogwarts and in my arms, is there a way to gain her freedom?”

“Partake in a threesome with the Carrows.”

“I’ll do it,” Antonin said, “it will be my price to pay for killing and dismembering her uncles.”

“This means you three had best help Neville sometime then,” Luna piped up with for some reason causing someone to laugh. “What did I say?” 

Fourteen might have been the pokiest cell in the Manor but it was the only one with a working floo. 

Their plan was coming together nicely. Soon they found themselves at Châteaux Lestrange, fifteen minutes and Harry was quite shocked to find Ginny was being thrust out by a dismembered hand, her face lit up the moment Harry was in her line of sight.

“Why am I free from Hogwarts?” she asked once she was in Harry’s arms.

“Because Hermione had a plan to rescue me, whilst I had one that freed you, Antonin Dolohov has to partake in a threesome with the Carrows. He says he’s reformed and what little I saw of him I’m on the latter end of the scale on that judgement call.”

“Ugh, I almost forgive him for killing my uncles, now. Those two are vile and often make sexual innuendo’s in classes – twice the male one tried to get me into bed with him. Twice I made him wish he’d never ask again.” 

“Fine men, aren’t they?” Luna said, “To rescue Harry for Hermione, Roddy is so brave wouldn’t you say?”

**June 1998**

“What!” Ginny breathed out heavily. “You can’t stop there.”

“Of course I can,” Hermione smirked, she felt her stomach, “Harry’s looking a little green. If you want the wedding night details I’ll give them to you later, in private. I can give _you_ some tips, Ginny.”

“Please do,” she breathed out.

It was then Harry tugged Ginny out from Lucius’ line of vision. The blond turned towards Hermione.

“I wish to be enlightened. My place tonight?”

She felt Rabastan grip her shoulder possessively, “You don’t need tips Malfoy.”

“No,” Lucius sighed, “but _you_ might.”

Hermione cackled, “You’re awful, Lucius, but I like you.”

“One thing is certain though,” Rabastan said as he fingered a coil of her hair, “no longer has your flower been forsaken by a tree thick with foliage but flourishes under our gentle boughs.”

That was exactly how she felt! Nourished, warm, loved, and despite the hills figuratively painted with blood – she was able to feel.

“Why don’t you say things like that?” Ginny elbowed Harry in the chest.

“What did I do now?”

“Nothing,” said Ginny furrowing her brows but her dark eyes glittered playfully, “that’s the problem.”

Like water from stone, Hermione’s crystal clear laughter burst forth at her friend's antics. Sure, blood had rained down on the Wizarding world for too long, but blood is also the source of life. She felt her swollen belly; the redemption of three wizards and the upcoming birth of their first child was proof that life carried on. Whilst they would grieve, mourn and bury their dead - they would also welcome in new life, grow families, sowing seeds so that the fecundity of new flowers will expand to hide their scars.

It’ll be tough - it’ll take years, but they’ll get there. Hope was living in her womb.

A new millennium was approaching, one that would bring a time to truly heal the scars from the many wars. To shed light on the darkness that bled throughout the 20th Century.

_Please_ , Hermione thought as she watched Barty and Nin toil in the distance, _no more forsaken flowers_!


End file.
